Official Band Bio
The Crossroads (1996 – 2000)
Dungeon Studios Manager & THE doorZ founder:
(Richard Baxter III / Orleans, Ont. / 1996)
Original Band Members (left to right):
Drums – Richard Baxter III
Bass – Bob Boucher
Keys – Mike Poulin
Vocals & Harp – Mo Jo
Guitar – Luc Poulin
Photos by Roger Lachaine
Recording Engineer Mike DesMarais
Even during the early Dungeon Studio days (1996), it was clear that The Spanish Caravan leaned towards the artsy side, making room in rehearsals for a fair bit of interpretive and innovative twists and turns. Given the creative backdrop, moulding in different arrangements and bits and pieces of original material was not unusual and naturally added to the ambiance of the show. Having extras and fillers meant that performances were never carved in stone. There was an outline and a familiar catalog, but there was always an element of improvisation and spontaneity that brought a hidden dimension to the stage. Expecting the unexpected was par for the course…and by the time this Kruktown circus hit the road (1997), every concert was its own whirlwind escapade, which translated into a fun and engaging Classic Rock experience.
Date: March 28, 1998 Location: Riptides Roadhouse; London, Ontario
With little in the way of promo or predestination, THE doorZ were a charming quintessential performance-based group – the underdogs of the underground. It was all in the mix, in the off-the-cuff poetic moments, in the subtle musical arrangements, and in the on-stage melodrama; and as the crow flies, it just kind of spread word of mouth (the triumph of the spirit). Coming from the outskirts of town and hardly “in vogue” is never an easy ride, but by partnering with a local agency (Centre Stage Productions) from August 1997 to September 1998, bookings started to trickle in at an ever-quickening pace, culminating with an Eastern Tour and a few summer festivals. From the get-go, it was a magical journey and far and wide, an enlivening roadhouse adventure. That said, while never a dull moment, becoming a working band was a big adjustment for everyone. The Crystal Ship was headed for stormy waters. There were the usual pitfalls and struggles with priorities and expectations,…and eventually a parting of the ways.
Artwork by: Fiona Hammond & Guylaine Theriault
Ian Card (the early days)
Dungeon Studios (main stage)
Ottawa, Ontario
(Road organ purchased at Retrotown Music – September 1998)
The Book of Changes
By Autumn of ’98, everything was up in the air at the Hyacinth House and hanging by a thread. It was a time of quiet uncertainty in all quarters. The Spanish Caravan had stumbled down to the crossroads, and there was a lot of moving pieces and shifting sand behind the scenes. Yet in spite of the day to day clouds and struggles, the vague consensus was that a humble reformation was, at least, worth exploring, even though Mike had left some rather big boots to fill. To that end, a few ads were put up around town with slim to no expectations. They say life happens when you’re making other plans; case in point, how a prodigious music award winning University of Regina graduate came to audition for the band, is quite the story in itself – A strange twist of fate by any reckoning. Nevertheless, however unlikely and unforeseen, the windows of time were vanquished and as indescribable as it was in those days (September ’98), with the arrival of Ian Card, THE doorZ were poised to begin a second chapter sewing new seeds for even more memorable performances to come. A chance tale of rebirth in the wilderness.
Lessons on Becoming
Wayward and wainscot wallowing in the dungeon, it was at least nice to have a bit of a life outside of town; and ironically, the plan on the drawing board was to arrange for a Western Canada tour. That notwithstanding, the Crystal Ship was far from ready to set sail. Rehearsals with Ian Card began in earnest in mid-September 1998 with the added feature that Dungeon Studios (recording facility) was up and running and in the capable hands of Mike Desmarais, a recent grad of the Recording Engineer program at Raven Street Studios (Ottawa West). As to be expected, early on, it was tough sledding. There is nothing straightforward about a shadowy impressionistic jazz/rock unconformity. Secondly, cutting teeth on the road organ is not something that happens overnight. There was the material and the dreamscape. There was the show and the on-stage drama. There was not a stone unturned and needless to say the reformation was all hands on deck. On the other side of the outstretched perplexity, it was a good fit. Ian was easy going, easy to work with, and a quick study of the subtle nuances behind the hallucinated acid rock underpinnings of THE doors. One jam to the next, the musical chemistry started taking shape. And strangely enough, the vision elusively settled in on the drowsy charms of stoned streets in the pale dawn.
It is a testament to Ian’s gifts, adaptability, and professionalism that despite the many challenges, by the end of October 1998, the first set was pretty tight. Things were coming together remarkably well. Everyone got along (on and off) the stage, which is “essential” for a touring act. Nevertheless, weaving and working through THE doors catelog was painstaking. There are many layers to get through, one of which is finding yourself; and while there will always be slight differences in style and technique,…the magic always gives way to the inner doors of perception – a semi-detached psychodynamic “group soul”. Intuition, intensity, and interconnection are all part of the form and modality beneath the surface. It’s a never-ending adventure and Ian’s vast repertoire and experience served him well to handle things on his own with a bit of direction from Luc and Richard. Bass guitar was not a requirement, but nice to have for a variety of songs; and the addition of Rob Niman was a solid component to the rhythm section. All in all, it was, no doubt, Ian’s laid-back approach that contributed to the steady progress, and as the days drifted haphazardly into November, things were rounding into conformation. Such were the high stakes of the ceremony. Yet, in spite of the odds, the first show took place at Café du Palais in Sherbrooke, Quebec on November 25th, 1998.
“The longest journey is the journey within.”
Dag Hammarskjöld
“All things must come to pass
Yet art alone endures,
To outlive the throne,
And the coin.”
H.A. Dobson (1840-1921)
Ars Victrix, st. 8
“Without music, life would be a mistake.”
Friedrich Nietzsche
Twilight of the Idols
Band sketch by Guylaine Theriault
With unremitting fashion, from the inception onward, there was an unwavering effort to trace the spirit and essence of THE doors: strangers in a strange land peering endlessly through the unknown and unseen. And I think it goes without saying that when you’re covering a remote alchemy of art rock and stream of the unconscious expressionism, it was a bit of a travelling circus at times. Nevertheless, the underlying rule was always to keep things light-hearted, and by and large, from high schools, to outdoor festivals, performances were well received, even amidst the occasional abstraction. It suffices to say that the addition of Ian Card raised the profile of the tribute. And given strong appearances – notably, “Perfect Strangers – Ottawa – December 6, 1998” , “The Liquor Store – Quebec City – February 24, 1999“, “Applebees – Toronto – March 20, 1999“, and “Rock Quest – Montreal – June 19, 1999” coupled with THE doorZ demo and other related promo, The Spanish Caravan held its own; Beckoning yet another fun-filled adventure on the other side of morning. A resonant stitch in time on the outskirts of town. Voyages of the Crystal Ship. A Portrait of Freedom. Memory Lane…
Oil painting by: Lise LeBlanc
“They are not long…
The days of wine and roses,
Out of a misty dream,
Our path emerges for a while,
Then closes
Within a dream…”
Ernest Dowson (1867-1900)
The Western Canadian Tour
The Classic Rock Weekend in the township of Minnedosa, Manitoba on Saturday, July 31, 1999 was the unlikely springboard of the Spanish Caravan’s Western Canadian Tour, and by no means, an easy ride. After a sold out show at the Rainbow Bistro (Downtown Ottawa), on Thursday night; July 29, the band was looking at a 30 hour drive just to get out of Ontario, plus a three and a half hour expedition to the festival site to do the meet and greet, pick up the VIP passes, and drop off the equipment to The North 40 backstage for soundcheck. Needless to say, it was going to be quite the hectic crusade; yet remarkably, everyone was in, in step, and in good spirits.
Between tear down, loading the van and trailer, and coffees and farewells, we didn’t leave Ottawa until around 5 am Friday morning, slowly heading west to Highway 17. For a tribute band to get an invitation to a festival of this stature was a nice surprise, though a rare moment in the fast borrowed drift of the ‘fringe artist’ life.
As a rule, there were knowledgeable fans everywhere, but classic rock had a steady foothold out west, and with an 8:30-11:00 pm showcase Saturday night, we were anticipating a fairly large cross-section of die-hard fans, as well a number of key people in the industry. That said, we weren’t worried. The depth and maturity of the THE doors repertoire was something we were intimately aware of and beyond any, note for note, song by song, critique.
A lot of research and discussion went into preparing the setlist. And so, even though there might have been a little apprehension as we made our way up the Ottawa Valley, everyone had the feeling that it would go over pretty well. With a unique mix of live material, interesting arrangements, and poetic interludes, what we brought to the stage, while light and dreamy, was shaped for an informed audience.
This was not our first rodeo, and we figured we’d pass the audition as long as we could make it there! Experience teaches that it’s wise not to get ahead of yourself. Tomorrow, on balance, is a strange forbidden dream; and all we could do was just see which way the wind blows.
Driver, where are you taking us?
In putting together the Western Tour, the principal objective was to widen our exposure; and in terms of logistics, it was conceived as a more or less extended summer vacation. Working in partnership with Z Talent Agency, the idea was to keep us busy for a month, put a couple of G’s in our pocket, and have time for some sight seeing. And since Ian was from Regina, we had a reliable tour guide. The only complication was the travel. There are always risks no matter what you do, but as it so happens, the Spanish Caravan seemed to thrive on misadventure.
Fortunately, the weather was good and we were able to make steady progress. By 9 am Friday morning, we were rolling through North Bay, heading to Sturgeon Falls in a daze of quiet anticipation. What I don’t think anyone could have anticipated is that this homage was going on four years in the making. A rare inheritance of fate and redemption. Come hell or high water, like THE doors, no one conformed to the fashion of the day, and we were all of near nascent mind-set, which meant that we could just be ourselves. What a novel concept!
In any event, given the cards on the table, to keep to the schedule, we had to make it to Wawa by sundown. Pit stops had to be brief. No hokeypokey. Fuel, snacks, and a Tim Horton’s coffee. That’s it, that’s all. Sleeping gypsies halfway to nowhere. Nameless nomads of an industrial wasteland, born of the chaos like the ghostly shadows of a dream. Such were the ground rules. The Highway 17 trail. Sudbury. Spanish River. Blind River. Bruce Mines. Sault St. Marie. Batchawana Bay and Lake Superior Provincial Park. Quite the haul on a good day. But where there’s a will, there’s a way; and a truth to the saying that ‘Rock n Roll’ is a young man’s game. Time had claimed us. Hesitation and doubt swiftly ensconced, and the great highway of dawn awaited.
“Art is a shield against the sordid peril of existence.”
Booker T. Washington (1856-1915)
For this caravan of sleeping gypsies, Saturday, July 31, 1999 began with with a moonlight drive past Thunder Bay at around 2 am (ante meridiem), and even though we had been on the road for over 20 hours, it was a welcome sign. It meant, barring any setbacks, that we would be at the Manitoba border by 10:30 and on location and within earshot of the festival by near to mid-afternoon; which was a huge relief given that there was a chance we were going to have some down time to rest, relax, and refine the show before hitting the stage.
A close call, but a safe landing. Needless to say, sunrise was a surreal feeling. It was as if we had collapsed time. Everything looked different and unfamiliar, and when morning broke, we were all in a daze. Newborn awakening. Wilderness children on the run and getting restless. The 4th law of motion. Leaving the informed sense.
By the tether of things, the day of a show always brings with it extra baggage, and in the case of a major festival, even more so. To no surprise, with a ways to go before our next recess in Dryden, the first discussions began circulating about the layout of the opening set. Now it should be pointed out how THE doors in concert are an intrinsically introspective, myth fragmented, impromptu theatrical affair, and there is no getting around it. It is what it is. An existential anthology. That said, we were all in agreement that our debut should not turn into ‘The Epic of Gilgamesh’. Frankly, we were quite comfortable letting the music and lyrics speak for themselves. Any why not? The standards by which art rock is measured are older, deeper, and more diverse; and it was clear that THE doors had stood the test of time and makeshift trends.
Under the circumstances, then a ‘Best of’ format made sense. And so when all was said and done, we settled on a musical recital/poetry reading with Jim as the rabbinical student scholar directing the ceremony. A more sober, subdued, and reflective posture. The soft parade. A feast of friends. Albeit, a somewhat abstract sampling of the work; but not without many of the underlying subconscious themes.
Adaptation of ‘Wilderness’ Vol. 1
The Writings Of Jim Morrison
“At the back of our mind there is a forgotten
burst of astonishment in our dream-like
existence. And the object of the spiritual
path is to search for the wonder of that
hidden sunrise.“
G.K. Chesterton
By this time, it was starting to feel like we would never make it out of Ontario; but after a much needed early morning pitstop in Dryden (8 am), it was business as usual. Needless to say, a lot of prep work goes into a tour, including last minute details. Much can be drawn from this ancient and insane theatre. For our debut appearance Saturday night, we had been scheduled for two 40 minute sets, which was quite fortunate in that it happened to be a typical format for us. Our opening was slotted to follow ‘Streetheart’, and we were expected to hold the fort from 8:30 to 9:15 pm, right in the thick of things.
Now, this was not our first festival, nor our first day on the job. That said, when you’re surrounded by distinguished company and knowledgeable fans, the stakes are always higher. Every show is different and has a different vibe. And so it was that as we made our way to the Manitoba border, a few things stood out from reading the room: we had a visible supporting role, it was going to be a professional and respectful affair on our part for everyone concerned, we had to bring our ‘A’ game half in the bag, but were willing to give it the college try. And we all agreed that the front nine should be up-tempo and on script.
Thankfully, we had not lost our footing to adversity; and Set 1 came together fairly seamlessly. There was no time to fret or split hairs. It was like a fast borrowed rhythm. Borderline dreams to make the morning mail call. Poems from Tape Noon. One must confront the inevitable and ‘break on through’. Burn all the baggage and move on as best you can.
Ian Card
As we drove past Kenora, the mood was quiet amazement. We were on course by the slim allusions of faith, but with not much room to spare. Needless to say, our first showcase at Classic Rock Weekend was a bit of a scramble. Life on the road is life on the road. Its not for everyone! A Bohemian Rhapsody. To uphold a “living in the moment” inventory; a sort of badly scripted movie sequel (episode zero). At any rate, first impressions are the manner of business, and oddly enough, we were all relatively awake and on active duty. The Vedic Square. A hand-me-down outfit shifting through the transitory and obscure doors of perception. Hidden connections and predicable outcomes.
With the exception of Ian, crossing the Manitoba border was like a sacred rite of passage; yet as much of a milestone as it was, we still had well over two hours to go to make it to the hotel in Brandon. Fortunately for us, Ian was our guide to the Labyrinth. The grand highway is a crowded rumble. A place where ghosts reside to summon the fate of travelers. So it was. Cast in the borderlands of the unbidden a long way from home. Another whirlwind adventure was about to begin, and as for our prospects everything seemed to be falling into place. It was a long haul, but the van and trailer held steady. A remarkable dig. Where there is a will, there’s a way to search the ancient signs and symbols for the morning-star.
All expression being subject to impression, the final leg of the journey felt like an eternity. The show must go on, and there was not a moment to spare. Killing our restlessness was a chore. A careless slumber slumber in sunlight’s quiet calm. As fate would have it, we arrived at the hotel in Brandon around 1 pm. The plan was for Ian, Rick and Luc to check in and get things settled; while Rob and I would head to the music site for formal introductions and distractions – about a half hour’s drive due North in a small town called Minnedosa. It was an absolutely beautiful day for an outdoor festival, and even though we were ‘dead tired’, we couldn’t help but get caught up in the Classic Rock Weekend buzz and excitement. There was an audience to our drama. A strange world that awaited the ceremonial rehearsal.
As to be expected with the nice weather and weekend festivities underway, the concern site was packed. When Rob and I arrived with the tour van and trailer, we were stopped by security not knowing who we were. Such is the ‘fringe artist’ life. L’America. The end of the dream that’s already found us. Whatever and how so many farragoes and confusion, eventually we got things ironed out; the meet and greet VIP passes, showtime itinerary, and last minute instructions for sound check. Our last chore was to drop off the heavy gear in the locker under the North 40 backstage. When that was done, we took a 20 minute break to chill and look around. Soft asylum. We had made it by a thread. By the time we got back to the hotel, it was around 3 pm. The tired walls and furnishings were almost home. A few sleepy hours for a much needed escape.
Luc Poulin
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